I’m just a ghost who drifted through for a bit of time.
When I’m back in the main room in fresh clothes and wet hair, Ryan is clearing off the small table for us to eat on. I was starving half an hour ago, and now the thought of food makes me want to throw up.
But I sit at the table and choke down a slice. I fill the silence with mindless chitchat. Because that’s what his girlfriend would do.
“I’m worried you won’t have enough time with Rachel to be prepared for Friday,” he says after taking the empty boxes to the dumpster outside.
Those papers aren’t in his back pocket anymore and I’m hoping they didn’t get thrown away too.
“Rachel and I will have plenty of time. Promise.” I climb in the bed, burrowing deep in the covers. “It’s cold in here. Can you turn the air down a bit?”
Ryan moves to the unit under the window to adjust the temperature.
He rummages around the room a few minutes then heads to the bathroom. It’s not long before he’s crawling into bed next to me. I let him pull me close. He doesn’t speak and doesn’t push for anything more. We’re connected from our head to our feet, and I can feel the steady beat of his heart where it’s pressed against my back. There are a few moments where I think he’s gearing up to say something, but words never surface.
I replay the conversation between Ryan and George over and over and over.
“You seem distracted. Want to talk about what’s on your mind?” The whispered question so close to my ear feels intimate. Like we’re really in this together.
“I’m just tired.”
He doesn’t push for an answer, but instead runs his fingers through my hair just the way he knows I like. It’s a while before either of us fall asleep.
Chapter 22
Present Day
I’m up before the sun.
It took me forever to fall asleep last night, and when I finally did, I was restless. Ryan always sleeps hardest in that last hour before he wakes for the day, so this is the best opportunity to look for the papers he had when he came back from meeting George.
Ryan’s grip on me has lessened during the night so it’s easy to slip out of the bed without waking him. Crawling across the floor, I make my way to his bags. He’s got the duffel with all his clothes, shoes, and toiletries, and a laptop bag for his work stuff. I’ve been through this bag a number of times, dug through the files on his computer, and checked his internet history, but other than the things I’ve already found for Mr. Smith, he’s careful about what he leaves lying around.
Now I’m realizing it’s because he knew I’d be looking. I only found what he wanted me to. So stupid.
But those papers George gave him should be here somewhere unless he read them and then threw them out with the pizza boxes.
The air unit under the window kicks back on and drowns out the sounds of his bag being unzipped. The laptop comes out first since it takes up the most room. There’s a yellow legal pad he takes notes onwhile he talks to clients and a spiral-bound prospectus on some mutual fund I’ve heard him push on a few of the calls he’s taken since we hit the road.
A stack of papers are tucked away in the inside pocket. I go through them, sheet by sheet, most of them relating to the financial services business, and I’m preparing myself for the possibility that they aren’t here, until the edges curl up on the last few sheets in the pile as if its muscle memory has kicked in.
These were the ones that were rolled up.
Spreading them back open, it doesn’t take me long to recognize what this is.
Alarm bells slam through my head.
This is the last batch of information I left for Mr. Smith. Devon had slipped it to me in thatPeoplemagazine, and I had gone through it to decide what I wanted to turn over. The small handwritten note in blue ink in the bottom corner of the last page, where I tell him I will check the box again the next day, lets me know this is the original, not a copy, since all I had in my purse was a blue ink pen.
This shouldn’t be here.
I turn around and take in Ryan’s sleeping form and the puzzle in my head starts to rearrange. Even if I consider that Ryan is higher up the ladder than I am, he shouldn’t have this. Not the originals like this. Not delivered to him by George. Not when it sounds like George picked them up from the mailbox and brought them directly here, to him.
The idea that Mr. Smith wanted this business for himself seemed like the most likely scenario, but what if it’s more than that? There is no danger of me screwing up the hostile takeover of a business he already owns. No reason to keep me on a job that’s not a job at all.
My mind races, tripping over theories and speculations and suspicions, while the air conditioner purrs and Ryan sleeps.
The meeting between Ryan and George yesterday confirmed a couple of things. George knows where we are because Ryan told him. And the way they interacted with each other spoke to a closeness that only forms over time.
